[ A short breath out has a tone of mirth to it, along with the smoke, as to whether Marcus would like Anders. He shouldn't laugh, considering the somewhat lukewarm things his partners have had to say about the man, but there is within him the stubborn refusal to dislike a person he would identify as a hero.
Did you read his work? he might ask. Instead, he snags on something else. ]
What do you mean?
[ Bastien may not necessarily be one of those people who live in insinuation and equivocation so much that such a question would knock him off balance, but it's a question Marcus has grown more than accustomed to asking, with certain kinds of people. ]
[ An easy grin and a wave of his free hand together: he means nothing important. Certainly nothing fraught enough for him to be embarrassed to clarify. ]
I have controversial taste. Terrible puns, changeable moods, talking too much—
[ He tugs his collar as if a bit hot beneath it.
And maybe that’s too much hyperbolic information—but they’re apparently on what do you mean terms.
Plus, that was almost a laugh before. Close enough to be emboldening. ]
[ The level of Marcus' focus seems to imply that he is awaiting Bastien's specificity, and so a redirection is less expected. One that cleaves more personal, suddenly, and there is a split second where he must decide if Bastien's teasing him has hidden malice to or is a simpler, friendlier thing.
There's a lot of reasons he doesn't particularly enjoy Rutyer's company. They give him further reason to suspect Bastien's.
But the next breath out is tolerant, deciding that some guarded prickle of feeling could stand to smooth itself out rather than tense and brace. He taps ash, again, off his cigarette, the set of his focus shifting. ]
When there're two of them, [ blondes, presumably, ] changeable moods and a lot of talk is inevitable. You don't know what I like.
[ Sharp on paper, but the delivery is mild without straying all the way into tentative, a faint twinge of amusement as he brings cigarette back up. ]
Whether intentionally or not, it's a good a reminder as any of where he is and what he came here for, and the fact that it's done. A nod seems to conclude their business, and there's nothing hasty or pointed in the last tap of ash, and the removing of his weight off the desk behind him. ]
Someone ought to've taken up the mantle of Madame Fitcher's card games, [ throughout this motion. Dry, ] A pity.
[ As Bastien lowers one surrendering hand and pivots the other around to pull on the cigarette, he hums. A little too low for pure unmitigated agreement. Calling them Madame Fitcher's card games, specifically, or otherwise giving her any ongoing credit, might not send the right signal to her victims.
But otherwise: good point, immediately sparking into plans. ]
Thank you, [ for the cigarette, wiggled between his fingers illustratively on its way out to the ash tray. ] I will bring you one when I report back on Monsieur soif de sang.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Did you read his work? he might ask. Instead, he snags on something else. ]
What do you mean?
[ Bastien may not necessarily be one of those people who live in insinuation and equivocation so much that such a question would knock him off balance, but it's a question Marcus has grown more than accustomed to asking, with certain kinds of people. ]
no subject
I have controversial taste. Terrible puns, changeable moods, talking too much—
[ He tugs his collar as if a bit hot beneath it.
And maybe that’s too much hyperbolic information—but they’re apparently on what do you mean terms.
Plus, that was almost a laugh before. Close enough to be emboldening. ]
On the other hand, he is blond.
no subject
There's a lot of reasons he doesn't particularly enjoy Rutyer's company. They give him further reason to suspect Bastien's.
But the next breath out is tolerant, deciding that some guarded prickle of feeling could stand to smooth itself out rather than tense and brace. He taps ash, again, off his cigarette, the set of his focus shifting. ]
When there're two of them, [ blondes, presumably, ] changeable moods and a lot of talk is inevitable. You don't know what I like.
[ Sharp on paper, but the delivery is mild without straying all the way into tentative, a faint twinge of amusement as he brings cigarette back up. ]
no subject
[ Bastien circles back to agreeably—aside from blondes, of course, and magic, with publicly decorous now only in the maybe column.
Then that earlier what do you mean also circles back to make him raise both hands, jaw-height in muted gesture of surrender, one wafting smoke. ]
Because I do not know you very well.
[ Not because the appeal of Enchanter Julius and Madame de Cedoux is so dubious and inscrutable that he cannot make any sense of it. ]
no subject
[ Agreeable, in kind, and vice versa.
Whether intentionally or not, it's a good a reminder as any of where he is and what he came here for, and the fact that it's done. A nod seems to conclude their business, and there's nothing hasty or pointed in the last tap of ash, and the removing of his weight off the desk behind him. ]
Someone ought to've taken up the mantle of Madame Fitcher's card games, [ throughout this motion. Dry, ] A pity.
no subject
But otherwise: good point, immediately sparking into plans. ]
Thank you, [ for the cigarette, wiggled between his fingers illustratively on its way out to the ash tray. ] I will bring you one when I report back on Monsieur soif de sang.